


Breach of Protocol

by ShaneVansen



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, PWP, Smut, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-15
Updated: 2010-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:37:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaneVansen/pseuds/ShaneVansen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wondered what had been in that ceremonial drink that had been served at the reception.  A slightly different take on the "aliens made them do it" cliché.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breach of Protocol

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2008 Merry Month of Masturbation, and an entry for LJ's "notjustclosets"' second ficathon.
> 
> I took some liberties with the logistics of how the radios work. If Star Trek can do it, then so can I. :p
> 
> Beta of Awesome: miera_c, who took a rather stilted fic and helped make it into something more worthy of the idea. A lot of the really good lines are hers. :D Any errors remain my own.

Something was off, John decided as he wound his way through the unfamiliar hallways of the hotel-like building they were staying in while Elizabeth conducted negotiations with the leaders of Androse. Nothing _wrong_, he didn't think – his mind was clear and his reflexes seemed as good as they ever were – but there was definitely something off. He felt wired, jittery, almost like the buzz he got after drinking three cups of coffee in a row.

He wondered what had been in that ceremonial drink that had been served at the reception.

John rounded a corner too fast and crashed right into someone; a woman, judging by the surprised-sounding _oomph_ she made. Half a second later he realized it was Elizabeth, and his hands were on her shoulders to steady her. "Hey, sorry."

"It's okay," she said with a little laugh. "It was my fault. I got lost looking for my room and wasn't watching where I was going."

John made a vague noise, somewhat aware that she'd stopped talking and was probably expecting a response, but his attention was drawn to her breasts, to the way they moved as she breathed, to the faint hint of cleavage revealed by the locally-made shirt she wore, to the faint outline of her nipples beneath the fabric, and Jesus, he was getting hard in the middle of the corridor because of Elizabeth and she was standing right there.

What the _hell_ was in that drink?

After a moment he realized her breathing had changed; of course, given where his eyes were fixed, it was hard to miss. Face reddening, he forced himself to look up to find that she was watching him with an odd expression. "Ah, right," he stuttered, backing away from her and frantically trying to remember what she'd been saying. "It's back this way." Their rooms were next to each other, back in the direction from which she'd come.

"Right," she acknowledged, much more subdued this time, and John hoped like hell it wasn't because she had an idea of what was going through his head right then.

He gestured for Elizabeth to precede him down the corridor, relieved that it wasn't unusual for him to walk a step or two behind her because he didn't want her to catch sight of the tent forming in the front of his pants. Of course, that also meant he had to fight to keep from staring at her ass as they walked. That was just making his problem worse.

It was less than a minute to their rooms, the silence more awkward than it had ever been between the two of them, or so it seemed to John. They paused outside the door to her room, and with his eyes fixed firmly on Elizabeth's face John wished her a hasty goodnight and fled the few feet to his own room.

Once safe inside, he locked the door and stripped off his jacket and t-shirt as he stumbled toward the bed. His boots were next, followed swiftly by his socks and pants. He debated for a moment over his briefs, but decided that that wasn't really a mess he wanted to have to explain to their hosts and left them on. Flopping on his back on the surprisingly comfortable mattress, he slid one hand down from his stomach.  
A sound caught his attention and John froze just as his fingers slid beneath his underwear. Holding his breath and straining to hear, he heard it again: a low moan. Coming from... Elizabeth's room?

The moan came again and John was set to rush next door to make sure she was okay when his confused mind remembered that Elizabeth had had some of the ceremonial drink as well and maybe, just maybe.... No, he told himself. This was _Elizabeth_ he was thinking about here, and there was no way that she was—

There was another moan, longer and more guttural this time, and his mind stuttered to a halt before tripping into overdrive at the sudden understanding that she was just on the other side of the wall, almost certainly naked and touching herself and making those sounds and, god, this couldn't be happening.

Knowing it was stupid and all kinds of dangerous didn't stop John from what he did next. Reaching up, he fumbled with the radio he'd forgotten to remove when he hurriedly shed his clothing. He had enough presence of mind to switch to the restricted command channel; he, Elizabeth, and Rodney were the only ones on Androse who had access to it, and he knew Rodney was sound asleep and would be until morning. Of course, she might have taken her radio off already. And if she hadn't, well, there was a good chance she'd throw his ass in the brig the second they stepped foot back in Atlantis. Considering that their relationship had never moved beyond light flirting – and there were a lot of reasons for that, even good ones – he was taking a hell of a chance.

_We were drugged,_ he reminded himself, though he knew that excuse would never fly.

For a few seconds there was only the sound of Elizabeth's breathing, right in his ear. In a lot of ways it was familiar; he could, and had, identify her over the radio just from the way she breathed. Right then it was fast and heavy, almost like it was when something had just gone wrong and she hadn't yet figured out what to do, but somehow there was a faint edge to it that made it different. He was so focused on her that he couldn't help but notice when the pattern of her breathing changed, and John instinctively understood that she'd realized what he'd done. He fought the impulse to hold his own breath, and waited for her reaction.

At first there was nothing. After the longest ten seconds of John's life there was the faint sound of rustling fabric, and then a soft gasp. His dick jumped to immediate attention, and he let loose a groan of his own.

Unable to wait anymore, he slid his hand beneath his briefs and took hold of himself, stroking firmly. Too aroused to take it slow, he closed his eyes and settled back, letting the sounds Elizabeth was making guide his fantasy.

He didn't often think about her when getting himself off; in fact, he usually tried his damnedest _not_ to picture Elizabeth, because stray images would come back to him at the most inopportune times and he'd start turning red and stuttering when they were going over expense accounts, or something equally as innocuous. He hoped to hell she hadn't figured out why – although after tonight, there probably wouldn't be any doubt.

He stroked himself hurriedly, absurdly close to coming even though he'd barely started. _Ceremonial wine_, he reminded himself. _Drugged_. And then he stopped caring because Elizabeth was moaning again, louder this time, and sighing, and it was like she was right there with him. John ran the palm of his hand over the head of his penis, using the precum to ease the friction, and pictured her straddling his waist, riding him, scraping her fingernails over his nipples....

She cried out, not quite a scream but a loud, raw sound like a sob that was going to be replaying in his head for a long time to come. His hand tightened involuntarily and his hips jerked once, twice, three times, before he came harder than he had in months.

By the time the sound of blood rushing in his ears faded enough that he could hear, Elizabeth's breathing was mostly calm. John lay motionless, wondering what happened next. They should probably talk about it or something, but he wasn't exactly sure how to start that kind of conversation. He wasn't good at the personal stuff under the best of circumstances, and _this_ certainly didn't qualify as one of those times.

He wondered what Elizabeth was thinking, if she would say something first. She was good with words. And he'd never admit it out loud, but if she started, maybe he'd be able to figure out how she felt about this before he was forced to admit anything and make an idiot out of himself – or a bigger one than usual, anyway – in front of her.

But in the end, neither of them said anything. John listened as Elizabeth shifted, probably settling herself more comfortably in her bed. He kept waiting, tense and more than a little worried by her silence. Not too long after that, though, her breathing evened out and he realized she was asleep. He turned on his side, trying not to think about what he'd say when he saw her in the morning, and debated turning off the radio. Deciding he'd rather leave it on, he drifted off to the quiet sound of Elizabeth breathing in his ear.

_\--end--_


End file.
